


Through The Wave and Undertow

by plastics



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, M/M, Praise Kink, Sibling Incest, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-28 20:43:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20070310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastics/pseuds/plastics
Summary: It’s amazing how every summer hits with the same unbearable swell, and every year it's a surprise.





	Through The Wave and Undertow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_ringed_octopus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_ringed_octopus/gifts).

> Title from "King of Carrot Flowers, Pts. 2 & 3." Happy RMSE, kurage_hime!

It’s amazing how every summer hits with the same unbearable swell, and every year it's a surprise. Normally, Taylor liked working roadside, just him and the truck, only seeing his coworkers long enough for a brief wave between pulling vaults and resetting the lanes people blow through without paying the toll. But the truck’s AC barely works, and the air feels—well, Taylor _ can _feel it, hot and heavy against his skin, as sweat drips down his neck. 

Taylor is more than ready for his shift to be over by the time he clocks out. He stands beneath the office’s air vent, head tipped back, while he waits for his supervisor to make sure the cash is in order. The sky has taken on a dreary baby blue in the sun’s final hours, and it hardly makes a difference. He feels another billow of dense air as the door opens again.

“Oh, _ hey, _ Taylor,” Rob says, and isn’t this a fucking gift to end a perfect day. “Aren’t you looking… ripe.”

“Evening,” Taylor drawls in response. He ignores the second comment. 

It doesn’t stop Rob from detouring towards him. “Seriously, you feeling alright? A little hot, maybe?”

“Nasty weather,” Taylor acknowledges. “Can’t wait to shower when I get home.”

“Oh, I don’t think a shower will help with what you got,” Rob responds.

Before he can leer any more aggressively or Taylor can cook up a way to get Rob to fuck off, Isabella interrupts with a loud, “Alright, Taylor, you’re all set. See you Tuesday.”

“Maybe,” Rob says.

“Sure.” And then Taylor elbows his way past Rob into the heat.

* * *

Taylor strips off his uniform white polo the second he’s off the lot. The real annoying bit, besides everything, is that Rob is a beta, which means Taylor has to be _ really _obvious for Rob to notice. He does a mental catalog as he pays his employer fifty cents to pull onto the freeway.

His conclusion is: he’s fucked. Taylor can drive in a straight line, more or less, but there’s a hollow suck in his stomach and a sore looseness to his muscles that makes him want to turn around and try to coax some usefulness out of Rob's existence, or keep driving and—

Taylor shakes his head, hard.

* * *

Taylor doesn’t crash the car. He doesn’t cause a neighborhood scandal running into the apartment still shirtless. The apartment is warmer, hazier than the office had been. They don’t have AC.

Danny isn’t home yet, either. Probably still at the park playing ball with his friends. Doing whatever kids his age do. It’s good, Taylor thinks. Danny used to be such a shy boy, clung to Taylor’s side every chance he got for most of his childhood. Taylor had worried, with their parents gone, that he’d regress, close back in on himself, but he’s been—as fine as he can be. _ Growing into a fine young man, _ as the aunties in their neighborhood like to say. And Taylor very, very badly doesn’t want to fuck that up.

The water coming out of the tap is lukewarm. Their freezer is too small to freeze a sheet in, and Taylor doesn’t think he could wait, anyway.

He considers his options. He gets his paycheck Friday—three shifts between now and then, including two doubles. He talked their landlord into expecting rent for the month the same day. His heats can take up the better part of a week when left unattended. Taylor hasn’t had a steady alpha since everyone worth knowing either left for college or better jobs the next city over. Deleted all of his dating apps after what happened last time.

The most pressing thing, in Taylor’s mind, is the slick he can feel starting to drip down the sensitive inside of his thigh. Absently, he unbuttons his slacks, shoves a hand down the back of his loosened waistband. He bites off a whimper when his fingers graze his hole, soft and so easy to dip into, even though he can’t get his wrist at quite the right angle—

Taylor shakes himself out of it, guiltily washes his hand in the kitchen sink, dries it haphazardly on a paper towel, and goes to shut himself in his bedroom.

* * *

Danny gets home at 11:47 p.m., according to the clock Taylor’s been staring at. That’s good. Taylor had been worried. He listens as Danny slams the front door, drops his shit into a messy pile Taylor can perfectly picture, knocks around the apartment until he comes to a dead stop, then rushes closer.

He doesn’t even knock. Why hadn’t Taylor locked the door?

_ “Tay,” _ Danny says, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. 

“Fuck off,” Taylor says, but even to his own ears, his voice sounds fucked. And he knows how he must look, hadn’t quite been sitting there with his hands tucked under his thighs like a virgin, and like every other itch, it’d only gotten worse the more he prodded at himself. His body hurt with it now, deeper than his bones.

Danny’s jaw snaps closed as he draws himself up to his full height—which Taylor wants to think isn’t very impressive, but he’s passed by Taylor at this point, the fucker. His eyes—Mom’s eyes—keep that half-crazy gleam.

More about Danny says man than boy these days. Taylor finds this both impossible to believe and impossible to ignore, especially now. Danny had presented as an alpha last spring with more grace than Taylor ever could’ve anticipated. In fact, Taylor had expected hell, and instead, Danny seemed more comfortable in his skin than he ever had before, stopped fighting Taylor every step of the way and started acting like someone who could become a productive member of society instead of a raw, reactionary bag of nerves.

Somewhere along the line, Danny became the person Taylor trusted most in this world. Taylor worried about leaning onto him too hard but couldn’t pull away, either, especially not after everything, and it’d seemed so natural. But maybe Taylor had been wrong to let down his guard, because now, the way Danny’s looking at him—it’s not right. It’s not right at all. Not between two brothers, let alone when one of them hasn’t even gotten his license yet.

(And, okay, the latter part was mostly Taylor’s fault, sorry he’s too busy making sure they have food and a roof over their heads to feel like spending his weekends in the passenger side of his car making sure Danny doesn’t drive the damn thing right into a ditch.)

But Danny, who somehow has more brains out of the two of them right now, doesn’t care about that. Danny is crawling into Taylor’s bed, saying, “Please, Tay, you gotta let me, I smelled you out in the kitchen and nearly died, please, Tay, please, please, _ please, _I promise I’ll take care of you—”

He breaks off already on top of Taylor to lick a fat, messy stripe up Taylor’s neck, disgusting and immature and still enough to make Taylor tremble.

“You don’t know shit about ‘taking care’ of omegas,” Taylor gasps. He’d know. Danny isn’t subtle. 

Still, it’s not a _ no, _ and Danny knows that. He presses his body down over Taylor as fully as possible, mouthing happily at his neck. “You can tell me what to do. I know you like _ that.” _

And, once he’s gotten what’s left of Taylor’s clothes off, Danny whispers, “I want to make it so good for you, Tay. Will you let me? Please, Tay, I promise.”

Taylor really, really shouldn’t. Letting the first alpha who found him once he ran out the front door have him would be a million times better than letting his baby brother fuck him. His virgin baby brother, who’s got no experience handling the urges of an alpha with a ready omega in his house. God, it’s Taylor’s _ job _to guide him through this sort of thing, set him straight, explain to him that they’re not just creatures of instinct.

The heat may have chased most of the sense out of his head already, but Taylor still knows, in the end, that he isn’t letting this happen out of desperation or necessity but because he _ wants _it. Taylor never gets what he wants anymore. It’s never about him.

When Danny breathes him in, Taylor knows that isn’t true anymore. Not tonight.

Danny fumbles with his nylon shorts to pull his cock out, tagging Taylor’s thigh with its wet head. The size of it makes Taylor melt, and Danny’s nostrils flare when he catches scent of it. He doesn’t look away from where his hands are holding Taylor open as he knees forward to rub his dick up against Taylor’s wet hole. 

His whole body _ wants _it. He can feel the head of Danny’s dick nudging just barely inside of him, thick as any Taylor’s taken before, and isn’t that a cruel gift for the universe to toss his way. The want chokes him, even as he kicks out, puts a slow-down hand on Danny’s stomach.

“You can’t just—stick your dick in someone,” Taylor says gasping, even though Danny probably could, could force his way past the last of Taylor’s defenses, use him how he’s meant to be used, fuck the last bit of sense out of him, until evil and ecstasy are all one thing. But Danny’s still young enough to listen, and Taylor wants him to leave this with some good manners. And Taylor wants.

Danny is looking into Taylor’s eyes when he kisses the sensitive skin behind his knees and then up his thigh. He hesitates when he’s level with Taylor’s dick, but he listens when Taylor tells him to lick it, put it in his mouth, suck. A blush blooms across the thin skin beneath his eyes, but Danny never flinches. When a firm tongue at the head makes Taylor moan, Danny repeats the trick until another orgasm shivers through Taylor.

He’s barely aware of his legs being folded up, Danny’s hands holding him open again as his tongue dives into Taylor, sloppy and eager and making an even bigger mess of Taylor. The noises coming out of Taylor hardly felt human. He’d be embarrassed in any situation, with anyone else, but all that, _ shame, _ feels a million miles away.

“You’re so wet,” Danny moans when he finally pulls back, and Taylor can see the evidence on his face. God, Danny looks filthy, and handsome, and _ young, _ eyes dark and hazy. 

When Taylor pulls him forward, he doesn’t hesitate. Taylor can feel him shaking in anticipation as he reaches down to line up Danny’s cock. He’s such a good boy, waiting until Taylor tells him, “It’s alright, come on,” and he slides in—not like nothing, like everything, and like Taylor is meant to take him.

Danny practically sobs into the leg he has over his shoulder, but instinct takes over. He doesn’t fuck finesse or even confidence, but like he really fucking _ cares, _ overwhelmed by it all, by _ Taylor, _ moving his hips quick and sharp, giving all he’s got, and—it’s a lot. So much. Pleasure builds like pressure in Taylor’s stomach, so sensitive the sheets clinging to his skin feels like too much, as the sloppy sounds of fucking fill the room. Taylor feels torn apart by need, and he can’t do anything but take it: Danny’s dick, his hands on Taylor’s dick, pinching at his nipples, holding him in place. Taylor feels himself burning up.

He comes and it’s like kerosene. Danny loves it, runs his hand through Taylor’s come then sucks his own fingers clean. If he seemed out of it before, it’s like someone else has arisen from the ashes, fire in his eyes. He knots with one hand on Taylor’s dick and the other with fingers hooked against Taylor’s tongue, making him drool.

It’s so good Taylor feels out of his mind, overwhelmed by the feel of it and the pheromones and the knowledge that this is just the start. Danny is grunt loud and rhythmic into his neck, in sync with the pulses where they’re tied, so tight Danny can’t get any deeper, no matter how hard he’s trying.

At some point, Danny regains the ability to speak, and sometime later, Taylor starts listening, hands petting at his hair as Danny babbles, “God, Tay, I love you so much, you take it so good, gonna fuck you forever, love you, so so good, Tay—”

And then Taylor tunes back out, eyes rolling as the knot deflates just enough for Danny to fuck him with it. 

* * *

Taylor wakes up to the buzz of his phone. His eyes are dry and grimy; he hadn’t been asleep for long. His arm jerks out automatically.

“‘Lo?” he says.

His voice sounds horrible, but it hardly seems to register to Isabella. With a saccharine sweetness, she says, _ “Hi, _ Taylor. I’m sorry to be calling when I know you were feeling a bit under the weather yesterday, but Jon called in earlier and it left us shorthanded for third shift. Do you think you’d be able to come in?”

Taylor blinks again, slow. He feels like shit. Drained. Sore. 

Normal enough it’d be illegal to send him home again. You can go hours without seeing anyone during third shift, anyway.

“Sure,” Taylor responds. He hangs up. There’s a heavy weight curled up against his side, an arm over his waist. Snoring. Danny doesn’t stir when Taylor slides out from under him.

In the bathroom, Taylor goes to the medicine cabinet first. Takes a few big pulls from the sink faucet, first to swallow and then from thirst. He showers, far longer than he usually does. Thinks about how this is the first night Danny has spent in a bed under his roof in a long time; usually he’s out on the futon. Not that he ever complains. Still not ideal.

Danny sleeps through Taylor getting dressed. He’s half tied in Taylor’s sheets, bare-backed, dark hair against Taylor’s pillow. Taylor dutifully does not stare.

In the kitchen, he leaves a note— GO TO SCHOOL! and underlines it three times. Beneath it, he puts an absence note. He puts both notes beneath a box of Pop-Tarts on the free corner of their kitchen table.

He leaves for work, then doubles back for a black sweatshirt. A cold front had blown in during the night.


End file.
